They live in houses…no wait, those are…NYC apartments? Oh right, I am sorry I forgot for a moment that they live in fantasy land. Unless one of these bitches is the Queen of England, they are by no means representing the ‘average’ working-woman apartment. Let me tell you, I am waiting for the show when one of these Gucci clad women comes home to her 121st street East Harlem pad, kicks the homeless guy off her doorstep and steps inside to the shit show of mice and bad plumbing... then folks, we got a cable television show.

First off, the one bitch who is a “fashion designer” appears to make more money then Pete Doherty’s drug dealer, and is dating some guy who flies around in a jet. Honey listen, if you are single and forty, you are lucky if a guy pays for your Metropass on the 181 bus, let alone has a flying machine.

Even worse is the one whose name I can’t figure out, Windy? Winnie? Winley? I prefer to call her, Whatthefuck? Or WTF. Well, WTF apparently has phone conversations with Leonardo DiCaprio. Which prompts me to the biggest question of all…when did heads of a major movie companies live in NYC? The answer is...they don't..they live in LA. Puh-lease bitch. And to top it off, The Leo does not CALL anyone. The Leo has people who call people for him. The Leo does not touch dirty things like ‘phones’, he is too busy tanning on a hammock drinking water made with diamonds.

The worst tragedy of all of course is the blond one who is trying to sleep with some hot 20-year old. First off, in real life, that dude would just want a job…or some kind of job, at least. Second off, your ‘revenge’ to some prick who is trying to mess with your company is to ‘oversalt’ his food at the table. Oh SNAP! Don’t oversalt my food, please, no stop, I might, become…DEHYDRATED!

The final scene ends in them crying and hugging. While the fashion bitch tries to make a witty comment about her roof deck.